Ghost in the House
by Saturdaychick
Summary: A stand alone Christine and Erik story.


**Ghost in the House**

The ballet rats were in tears again. Melanie had heard the ghost that night and it was dreadful. She was late getting back to the dormitories because she had shared a pastry with Jacque, one of the boy dancers from the other wing, and they had enjoyed talking and gossiping about all that went on in the Opera House until she realized Madame Giry would be furious. As she made her way back, the candle she was carrying flickered and a voice, close to her ear, said "Silly girl, if you do not obey the rules you will be put out on the street!" She had looked all around to see who could have spoken to her so rudely… but there was no one there. The hallway was empty.

She burst into the rooms and the other girls gathered around to comfort her and to hear her exclamations.

Everyone but Meg Giry, who yawned, and then finished the cup of hot chocolate she had been drinking, gathered her skirts about her and left the dorms to find her dearest friend, Christine, who lived in the dressing room next door to the Giry's apartments.

Knocking gently, Meg whispered "Christine, are you awake?"

Her reply was the unlatching of the door and Christine smiling though puzzled, grasped her friend's wrist and pulled her inside. "Meg, is everything alright?" she embraced her friend and then sat on her little bed and patted the space next to her. Meg joined her.  
Christine, turning to Meg, continued, "Luckily I was studying the libretto my tutor assigned me or I would have been sound asleep. Then knocking, no matter how loudly, would never have woken me! I am a very sound sleeper, as you know! So, what is it?"

"The Ghost is at it again," she laughed. "This time scolding Melanie for her dalliances. As well he should."

"The ghost…" Christine spoke softly. "How I wish that ghosts were real," she sighed, "for then perhaps my dear father could visit me. Sadly, I don't think they are. One can only hope. Although," here she smiled at Meg, and her eyes brightened, "I do believe in Angels. I believe in the Angel of Music. You must promise me never to say a word to anyone of what I am about to tell you, or I will have to keep it secret, even from you."

Meg, who loved secrets and was good at keeping them, for the most part, nodded. Christine was as dear to her as a sister and she would never reveal her confidences. Not under pain of torture or, worse, interrogation by her mother. "I swear it, Christine. You know I would never share your secrets."

"I have been visited by the Angel of Music," Christine beamed at her friend, who stared at her in return, "Um, you don't say…" Meg replied.  
"I'm not mad, Meg. It is the truth. My tutor is the Angel of Music, himself. I have never seen him. He appears to me as a beautiful voice and has been giving me lessons since I was nine years old. Since not long after I arrived. After my father died. You knew I had a tutor?"

"Yes, of course. Everyone knows you meet privately with a great tutor. One who has helped you to have such an amazing voice! We have all wondered about him. Was he handsome? Were you secretly in love with him?"

"You know, Meg, hearing you say those words… I have to confess, I believe I am a little in love with him."

One wall of Christine's dressing room was covered by a gigantic mirror, which reflected back the image of the two young women. And behind that mirror, Erik paused, having heard Meg and Christine's conversations. He had forgotten to give Christine some last minute advice for the libretto he had left her on her desk while she was at rehearsals earlier. He held his breath. He had been in love with Christine for the last year. He hadn't realized it, himself, at first, but she had turned into a

beautiful young woman, and when he grasped what it was that was happening to him and how he had looked forward to gazing upon her through the mirror, knowing, though, that could she see him, she could never return his feelings. Like so many throughout his life, he feared she would see his masked face and scream and run from him, or faint, like more than one woman did who had seen him at the gypsy camp where he had been exhibited. But here was Christine, professing her love for him to Meg! He leaned in. He had excellent hearing.

"I knew it, Christine!" Meg cried excitedly, "You are in love with your tutor!"

'Ah!" Erik thought to himself, "She does love me!"

"Well…with his voice anyway." Christine replied thoughtfully. I have never seen him. Suppose he doesn't have a body? Suppose he is an invisible presence, this Angel of Music?"

"He's not!" Erik held himself back from shouting this through the mirror, "I'm NOT!"

Both young women looked at each other. "Well, at least you have your Angel. Melanie has her ghost. I prefer your haunting!" Meg laughed.

Erik glowered at them. He could feel his heart turning to ice. She could never love him. Better to steel himself and continue with the lessons dispassionately.

"And you have Raoul…" continued Meg.

"Raoul…" sneered Erik, under his breath.

"I suppose," Christine replied. "He is charming and handsome. What girl wouldn't be thrilled for his attentions?"

Here, Erik froze. He started to turn away. This was self torture, listening to his beloved profess her love for someone else. He would return to the depths of the 5th cellar and throw himself into composing. And maybe a glass or two or a whole bottle of brandy.

But something held him there, for the moment. He turned back.

"But I can't look at Raoul beyond the boy he was when we were children. My playmate. The boy who gallantly retrieved my scarf from the sea. But as a, I don't know, a boyfriend? I simply don't love him in that way. I suppose, all my life, I've been waiting for some grand passion. Someone who would understand my art. That singing is my life. Raoul humors me about it. He doesn't think a wife should be a performer. I can't be silenced, Meg. I have worked too hard and too long. It's not fame or glamour I seek. Just the freedom to sing and perhaps make a living at it. That is all I ask!"

Meg understood exactly. "It is how I feel when I dance. I know, Christine. Any man I might love would have to allow me the ability to dance. It is to live."

Erik was shocked by these confessions. What she was saying was that the man she could love would know that she needed to sing as she needed to breathe. And what man, other than himself, could know what her words meant, for HE had given her that voice. Had helped shape the voice he had heard long ago, when as a child, she sang to the memory of her father. That nine year old girl. Now, the 16 year old woman before him.

"I had better get back to our rooms, Christine. I am sure Mama has been wondering where I have been all this time. She knows I get bored when I spend too much time in the dormitories with the other rats. So, what will you be wearing at the fete' tomorrow night? The red velvet or the jade green satin?"

"Oh, yes. I had almost forgotten. The managers are celebrating the season ticket holders with a private performance and then mingling with the performers after the performance. I suppose I'll wear the green. I would much rather spend the evening here, quietly, with a book, or even better, with a voice lesson."

Erik felt himself almost aglow with the happiness of possibility. And a plan formed in his mind. A daring one, but, knowing himself and his impulsiveness, he knew he would carry it through.

It was Friday night. The season ticket holders were dressed in all their finery. The men in black tie and the women in an array of jewel-toned gowns. The performances had been the best they had ever seen and it had been only for those who could afford the cost of attending each show in the best of seats. They were all delighted by the special ballet choreographed by Madame Antoinette Giry and starring her beautiful daughter, Meg Giry, who was as graceful and lithe as a fawn.

And each was astounded by the singing of the young woman, Christine Daae' who performed after the diva Carlotta and to far greater applause. She was like a breath of fresh air as the spotlights glinted on her chestnut hair and her voice soared so pure and sweet and yet so strong. "How could anyone so young sound so mature and professional?" they all asked themselves.

Now, as Christine stepped shyly from behind the curtains to join the others on the floor. She saw Meg, standing with her mother, the beautiful and imposing Antoinette Giry, and speaking with the Managers who were introducing them to several aristocratic looking couples, and over the heads of the crowd, she could see Raoul and his brother the Count Philippe de Chagny. When Raoul spotted her he waved… but, someone took her arm. She turned to see who it was, and it was a man whose face was hidden by a brimmed hat and the collar of his cloak. "Christine…" he whispered. She knew that voice. "Come with me. Someplace private. Just for a few moments." She nodded and let him lead her.

He took her hand in his gloved one and led her away from the crowd and their laughter and talk and down some stairs and then up, and up and then they were on the rooftop. The air felt so fresh and clear. The man was tall. He had released her hand and now, leaned against the balustrade and looked down upon the night city. She joined him. The beauty of Paris at night was unsurpassed. A glittering star filled sky fallen to earth to match the one still above them.

He turned to her, "You asked to see me. I decided the time had come to grant you that request…" he spoke softly, hesitantly.  
"You are my Angel," Christine gasped. "I cannot believe it is really you!" She stepped closer. Her heart was beating so fast in her chest she thought she might faint with the joy of meeting her tutor in person. But his face was still hidden. She stepped closer, right up against him and reached for his cloak, drawing the collared hood down, and saw, beneath the hat brim, his face. Half of which was covered by an intriguing white mask while the other was so handsome it was almost hard not to feel shy to gaze upon it. He took both her hands in his.

"I am not the Angel you imagined, my dear. I am not an Angel at all. Just a man. But a man who saw your potential for greatness. Who saw your voice as a great instrument."

"Whatever you are, Angel or man, you have been so kind to me, from the time I was a girl. You showed me the way to become what I am, now, not just a singer, but a song in human form."

Erik was silenced by her words.

"I am a man, it is true, my dear Christine, but I have not always been kind. I had not been shown any kindness in my life, from the time I was a child. It was easy for me to carry out certain, um tasks, that polite society might frown upon. But from the time I found you weeping over the loss of your father and becoming your, uh… Angel, it gave me something to live for. Something wonderful, "he sighed,  
"watching you grow and helping you, guiding you. It kept me alive when all I had wished for was to die alone and forgotten. Despite my friendship with Antoinette Giry, who scolded me, and hounded me in my solitude. It was she who encouraged me to keep tutoring you, when I confided I might give it up…"

"Madame Giry knows you? She knew you were my tutor? How funny. She never said anything, but she did imply and always encouraged me to follow my tutor's instructions. How she could see me improving. Wait, did you say you almost abandoned me?" she looked up into his face.

"Yes. Last year. I could feel there was something drawing me to you, something beyond your voice. I felt I knew you more intimately than I have ever known anyone, but… but I was falling in love with you. It was wrong." He stepped back from Christine. "It IS wrong."

Christine remained silent as she weighed his words. "Why do you feel it is wrong?" she asked.

"Because I should never have expected you to love me back" he exclaimed passionately.

Moving closer to Erik to close the gap between them, Christine reached out and took his gloved hand in hers, " It is not wrong, Angel. I think I have been waiting most of my life for this moment."

"My name is Erik," he said, quietly.

"Erik! You will always be my Angel of Music, but now you are the man who stands before me, and whom I have been in love with, it seems, for a very long time."

"How can you be so sure, Christine? You have not seen my face!" He cried. "Wait, before my heart is shattered, and see whom it is you profess to love…" and here he took his hand away and reached up and removed his mask.

The night was dark, the stars shone brightly above and the gaslights on the roof flickered in the evening breeze, but Christine could see clearly, the damaged, deformed side of Erik's face. It was skeletal in appearance in contrast to the perfection of the left side. But as a whole it was a face filled with pain, and who she could not help embracing with her whole heart and soul. She threw her arms around him. "It is the face of my Angel, Erik, and of the man I love. I have loved you always, and it was destiny that brought us together."

Erik returned her embrace, hardly able to believe this was all a reality and not some torment his mind had dreamed up to torture him for his past sins.

"Yes, destiny. And perhaps… the spirit of your late father," Erik said, thoughtfully.

"Yes," Christine agreed. "Perhaps it was."

And with that, they returned, arm in arm to the joviality of the crowd below, where Erik would leave Christine to her duties while he returned to his home in the 5th cellar. And each knew, no matter what demands were made on Christine that evening, and though they might be apart for now, their hearts would forever be joined as one.


End file.
